by Paul Collins
For a moment Velza saw the admiral’s eyes, and they were wide with fear. Does a rabbit look like that when cornered by a fox? she wondered. If the enemy does not kill him, the emperor will. Everyone with any sense fears death, but is Dalzico also desperate to stay alive? If he is, what might he do?
During her training Velza had been told that it was never easy to follow a battle from within the battle, especially with smoke everywhere. Nobody is really sure where to go, whom to shoot at, or who is winning. At first Velza had a very good view of the battle, and she wondered whether the old veteran who taught at the Imperial Marine Academy knew what he was talking about.
The Savarians had set all five Dravinian gallerines alight, and that made the situation much simpler. If a ship had one mast and dozens of oars, it was Savarian. If it had three masts and six oars, it was Dravinian. Deathlight could not penetrate the smoke, but the Savarian galleys could – and they had bow rams.
Velza stayed close to the captain and admiral, ready to do as ordered. Suddenly Captain Parvian seemed to remember her.
‘You, Liaisory Velza, can you use a sword?’ he called.
‘I have a fencing certificate from –’
‘Then stay on the mid-deck and defend the admiral if we’re boarded.’
‘But Sir, surely I should call his personal guard.’
‘The real admiral had a personal guard, but he and his guards died when the Intrepid was destroyed yesterday. Dalzico was so confident about victory that he did not bother to appoint a personal guard squad, and his lackey is just a barber and tailor.’
I’ve just been made the admiral’s personal guard, thought Velza, but nobody will know unless it goes into a report and it won’t. It’s not fair, reports should be fair! Through swirls of smoke Velza saw that one of the small, fast Savarian galleys was heading straight for the flagship. Unless it was stopped, its ram would go through the larger vessel’s hull. Ballistas shot firepots of oil at the galley, and plumes of fire burst on its long, flat deck. As burning oil leaked down onto the rowers, the oars lost rhythm and the galley slowed.
Captain Parvian hurried over to a speaking tube bolted to the mainmast and pulled a large cork on a chain out of the mouthpiece funnel.
‘Steersman, turn twenty degrees to port!’ he shouted.
The flagship began to turn, and the angle between the two ships lessened. The galley needed to hit the side squarely for its ram to pierce the hull, but on this angle it could only achieve a glancing blow. Velza winced at the sound of a drawn out, splintering crash as the flagship collided with the galley, smashing away the oars along one side.
Dalzico looked frantic with terror. ‘We’re sinking!’ he shouted. ‘Launch the gigboats!’
‘Their ram did not strike hard enough to hole us,’ called the captain.
The flagship emerged from the smoke into clear air, and Velza saw that Teliz was close.
‘Their air shapers are clearing the smoke away so Deathlight can burn us,’ said Parvian.
‘Where’s Calbaras? He should be leading our shapecasters; our air shapers should be fighting back.’
‘Another galley attacking!’ shouted the man in the crow’s nest.
Suddenly the light around the Invincible became so bright that it seemed like the sun had dropped on them. Those on the mid-deck were shadowed by the forecastle, but the crews of the arbalests and ballistas on the forecastle and quarterdeck were directly exposed to the blast of light and heat from one of the Deathlight towers. Some men leapt overboard, others roasted where they stood. The lookout left the crow’s nest and ran along a yardarm with his clothes and hair on fire, then jumped into the water, leaving a trail of smoke as he fell.
‘Steersman, return twenty degrees to starboard,’ shouted the captain into the speaking tube.
Drops of burning tar rained down onto the deck from the masts and rigging, which were ablaze. On the shadowed mid-deck everyone held cloaks and jackets over their heads, and sailors and marines ran about carrying buckets of water to douse the flames. Paint blistered, and even the timbers and planks smoked and charred.
The Savarian galley was much closer, and Velza realised what the enemy was doing. Deathlight was making the flagship defenceless while the galley approached, and as soon as the galley rammed them it would be focused on another ship.
Marines and sailors crouched with their crossbows ready, waiting for targets on the Savarian ship to come within range. The ship’s air and water shapers were gathered near the steps to the foredeck, chanting hoarsely as they tried to raise the fog. The enemy shapecasters were keeping the air clear from the shore, and raising breezes to blow the smoke aside.
Why is father not helping? Velza wondered. He went below to prepare for the battle, but surely he must be ready by now. Only the admiral could command him, but the captain was now the admiral and he was busy trying to defend the ship and save the fleet. Father might listen to one of his children, Velza thought. She could not leave the mid-deck because she had been ordered to protect Dalzico, but Dantar was another matter.
Velza struggled with her conscience. Her conscience lost.
Sometimes you have to be bad for the greater good, she decided, running across to where Dantar was standing with Marko and five marines. She saluted.
‘Orders from the admiral, go to Calbaras in the master cabin,’ she said, pointing aft. ‘Tell him he’s needed on deck.’
‘You can’t give me orders,’ Dantar began.
‘It’s the admiral’s orders, she’s only passing them on,’ said Marko, picking up the dousing pail. ‘Wrap your hands in the dousing cloths, and hold still.’
Dantar handed his crossbow to a marine, then Marko emptied the pail of water over him as he wrapped the cloths around his hands.
‘Marko, Velza, er, goodbye, probably,’ said Dantar, and he hurried off.
‘Why did you do that to a superior officer?’ demanded Velza.
‘The door leading to the master cabin is directly exposed to the heat from Deathlight,’ Marko replied. ‘Being wet may protect him a little.’
Velza realised that the door under the quarterdeck was blackened and smoking from the Deathlight’s heat. She screamed at Dantar to stop, but it was too late.
DANTAR
For Dantar, it was a choice between getting hanged for disobeying an order and being roasted alive. I’m dead either way, so I’d better die for a good reason, he decided. Dead at fourteen, what a joke.
I’ll never grow a beard, meet girls or drink wine.
He kept to the forecastle’s shadow as long as he could, crouching low. Staying within the thinner shadow of the mainmast, he moved closer. The door leading to the master cabin was across ten feet of exposed decking – smoking under Deathlight’s merciless heat.
‘This will really hurt!’ Dantar said to himself as he prepared for the dash to the door – then he realised that his voice had broken and was much deeper. ‘Oh great, I get to die with a grown-up voice,’ he muttered as he ran.
By the time Dantar reached the door his clothes were smoking and beginning to crumble, yet his hair was not alight and his skin was not even blistering. The wet douse cloths around his hands hissed as they touched the hot metal of the latch, but it clacked open easily. He slipped inside the storm cabin, a sheltered space from where the steersman could steer the ship in bad weather, guided by orders through the speaking tube. Dantar slammed the door shut.
The douse cloths fell from his hands, burned to crumbling char. Nothing made sense. The beam from Deathlight had been uncomfortably warm, but not furnace hot.
‘How goes the battle?’ the steersman asked, one hand on the huge tiller lever and the other holding a speaking tube to his ear. ‘They only tell me where to steer.’
‘It’s bad, but the smoke’s shielding us from the heat weapon,’ Dantar lied, trying to be optimistic.
‘Where’s Calbaras?’
‘In the master cabin, through the door behind
me. Why doesn’t h
e help us fight?’
‘I was sent here to find out.’
Dantar went to the door.
‘Mind the handle, it glows hot if you touch it!’ warned the steersman, but Dantar had already grasped it.
The handle was red hot in his hand, but to him it was merely warm. Sweat, he thought as he pulled the door open. The sweat on my skin must be protecting me from hot things.
Calbaras was seated in the captain’s carved wooden chair, his hands resting on the padded arms. The court’s table had been pushed to one side.
‘Father?’
Calbaras did not answer.
Dantar edged closer. The warlock’s eyes were unfocused.
Working some kind of spell, Dantar thought. Although he did not know how to cast spells, he knew better than to interrupt. That would be dangerous for both of them.
As he waited, more charred cloth fell from the sleeve of his tunic. The fabric was blackened and crumbling from Deathlight’s heat, yet his skin was still not blistered or red. He could hear the sounds of the battle from outside, and the windows showed burning ships and billowing smoke.
It can’t be just sweat or water protecting me, he thought. It has to be magic. Fire magic that works over water. Only dragons can do that, but dragons are bigger than this ship. Or are they? How big are young dragons? Maybe a dragon chick is following me around, shapeshifted into a seagull. Why would it be protecting me? Maybe dragons like totally unmagical humans.
His father had a strange, powerful aura, and he was the same age and build as the marshal, with broad shoulders, greying hair and eyebrows like deck brushes. If they ever had a fist fight, you could never pick who would win. Dantar circled his father once, then stood before him, hoping that he would notice him in spite of the trance. It was like standing in front of a loaded arbalest.
Although his father took Dantar everywhere, he hardly had anything to do with him. Apart from the fire in the oil store, this was the first time Dantar had been alone with him for the entire voyage. Calbaras blinked. Dantar flinched back. Slowly, carefully, as if emerging from a deep sleep, Calbaras stood up and glared down at Dantar.
‘Boy, what is it?’ he demanded. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Admiral’s orders. The battle’s going badly, he wants you outside, commanding our wizards and shapers.’
‘I see everything, and I see our fleet winning. Tell that to the admiral.’
That did not sound right to Dantar. The admiral’s attack had become a fiasco.
‘Wait, please, there’s something else,’ Dantar pleaded. ‘I heard people talking on a speaking tube I was repairing. They were planning to betray the ship. One of them was Meslit, the water wizard. He tried to drown me, twice.’
Calbaras’s eyes widened with surprise and interest.
‘Have you told anyone else?’ he asked, grasping Dantar by the arms.
Oh great, so father finally hugs me, just as we’re about to die.
‘I’ve only told Marko, he’s my friend, a sailor.’
‘You should have come to me first.’
‘You’re always busy, father.’
‘I’m never too busy to flush out treason.’
‘Is it too late?’ asked Dantar, who felt very stupid.
‘No, I can still save the day.’
Calbaras lifted Dantar from the floor and flung him straight through the leadlight window in the side of the cabin.
Dantar burst through the glass and lead strips. He thought that the worst was over, and that hitting the water would be like jumping onto a pile of feather cushions. A moment later he smacked into the water, and it felt as hard as the Invincible’s deck, knocking the wind out of him. When he tried to gasp for air, there was only water, and it was no more breathable than the water he had nearly drowned in earlier that day.
I can’t breathe water and I can’t swim, he thought. My own father threw me overboard. How much worse can it get?
VELZA
On deck, the glare from the heat weapon suddenly ceased.
‘They gave up!’ shouted Admiral Dalzico, almost hysterical with relief. ‘We beat them!’
‘They turned the beam away because they don’t want to burn their own people,’ Parvian replied.
‘What? You mean there are Savarian spies aboard?’
‘No, but there’ll soon be dozens of Savarian marines. They will hit us square-on this time, and we will be boarded and sunk.’
The captain pointed to a Savarian war galley being rowed straight for them. The galley had not been hit by a barrage of firepots, and was closing in at ramming speed and under full control.
Dalzico was suddenly faced with hand-to-hand fighting. The prospect of this sliced through the last of his control.
‘I surrender, we all surrender!’ he shouted.
‘Wave the surrender flag!’
He thinks the enemy will spare him and demand a huge ransom, thought Velza. He would rather trade the entire fleet for his life. Beware of those who value their lives too highly.
‘Liaisory, fetch a white cloth!’ cried Parvian.
‘Admiral, hurry, come to the rail so the enemy can see you waving.’
Where can I find something white in the middle of a battle? Velza wondered as she watched the captain and admiral running to the edge of the deck. Captain Parvian had a hand on Dalzico’s back, pushing him along. The admiral was wearing a hundred pounds of metal armour, so that as he reached the rail he had too much momentum to stop. He crashed into it, toppled over and fell to the waves below.
The captain just murdered the admiral! Velza realised as she hurried over. She looked around.
The officers and men nearby were smiling.
‘Our story is that the admiral ran to the railing, overbalanced and fell into the sea,’ Parvian said calmly.
‘But, Sir –’
‘Or I’ll make sure you hang alongside me.’
‘Yes, Sir. Fog of battle, Sir.’
‘That’s the attitude, Liaisory Velza. Now take off your cloak and surcoat.”
‘Yes, Sir, but why?’
‘Because you can swim better without them.’
As Parvian walked away, Velza bundled up her cloak and surcoat, then flung them over the side. There was no sign of the admiral. Dressed in steel plate armour, he had sunk like a stone and would be dead already. Suddenly a small body burst through the side window of the master cabin and splashed into the water.
That’s Dantar! thought Velza.
Without another thought, Velza vaulted the railing and plunged into the water, then struck out for where Dantar had sunk. Moments later, the bow ram of the Savarian galley smashed into the side of the Invincible.
DANTAR
Dantar was drowning for the third time that day. You always take breathing for granted until you can’t do it any more, he thought amid the terror of trying to breathe water.
When he saw the girl swimming towards him, he thought that he had died already and that she was a blessed spirit come to take him to the afterlife. She was beautiful, pale and graceful, and suddenly Dantar realised that he was to be taken up to the clouds of the blessed, and not the fires of underground torment. She’s Celmorae, the Ferrygirl, come to take me to paradise.
The illusion shattered as the girl seized him by the hair and began swimming upwards. His head broke the surface, and for a few moments nothing was more important than gulping air. The beautiful, pale girl had become his angry, dishevelled older sister. To his astonishment, she saluted, then pushed a piece of wreckage at him.
‘Respectfully request that you grab this piece of driftwood and don’t drown, Sir!’ barked Velza.
‘You – you jumped overboard to rescue me!’ Dantar spluttered. ‘You deserted.’
‘Yes, Sir, and if anyone’s left alive, they’ll hang me. Now pardon me while I swim ashore and continue to desert – Sir!’
My sister cares about me! thought Dantar as he stared after her, then glanced back at the Invincible. She was sinking –
and dragging the Savarian galley down with her. Returning to his post was not an option.
Dantar began kicking his legs, steering his piece of driftwood in the direction of the shore. In spite of all the horrors and danger that surrounded him, Dantar felt strangely happy. Velza saved me! For the very first time, he felt part of a loving family.
DRAGONS
High above the battle, the dragon grew alarmed. The dragon chick was frightened.
Its faint, distant aura was becoming cold. Alarm became anger, and anger became fury.
How dare they endanger a dragon chick with their petty battles? I shall pluck the chick from danger, annihilate both fleets and burn the city.
Wings that could shadow a castle folded back, and Dravaud dropped like a shooting star toward the battle. A power greater than all the warships in the entire world had been unleashed, and nothing could call it back.
TO BE CONTINUED in Dragonfall Mountain